


get your dust on, or, a day in the life

by genee



Category: Bandom, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-03
Updated: 2009-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-18 17:51:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genee/pseuds/genee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Oh, fuck," Sam says when he catches his breath, "Fuck, Dean, we should go anyway, but it's not a curse. It's just Frank Iero." </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	get your dust on, or, a day in the life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maridelmar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maridelmar/gifts).



> Another 'invent a relationship' meme response. :)

"I think I got something," Dean says when Sam's out of the shower, and Sam tosses his toothbrush in his bag, shakes his wet hair all over, cold drops on Dean's skin, the ratty window shades, the laptop screen. "Fuck, Sammy, knock it off!"

Sam just smirks, though, digs around for a shirt that doesn't reek. Dean's been clacking away on the laptop since sunrise, shitty motel coffee in a paper cup, sugar packets, stir-sticks. "Okay," Sam says, one leg in his jeans, sniffing loudly. "Hit me with it."

"It's this tour, man. This band? They've had bus fires, accidents, broken bones, food poisoning. They've subbed out their bass player, their drummer, and their rhythm guitarist already, not at the same time or anything, but," Dean shrugs, scratches at his stubble. They've been holed up here too long. "It could be something."

"Like what, Dean? A curse? I don't know, man." Sam drops down on the bed, mattress squeaking underneath him. They both grin. "We could check it out, I guess. What band is it?"

Dean looks back at the laptop, says, "My Chemical Romance" like he's never heard of them before, and Sam freezes for a second, bursts out laughing until he can't even breathe, his cheeks pink with it, his throat, his chest.

"Oh, fuck," Sam says when he catches his breath, "Fuck, Dean, we should go anyway, but it's not a curse. It's just Frank Iero." Dean raises an eyebrow, does that thing with his mouth that makes Sam miss him all over again, even though he's sitting right there. "Remember I told you about the band I saw when I first left for school? I still had hunting on the brain all the time back then, and I thought for sure this kid wasn't quite human, throwing himself all over the stage like some sort of demented Pixie, shine on him like you wouldn't believe."

Dean's trying to remember if he's ever heard Sam talk about Stanford like it didn't rip his heart out, going on about this crazy little rockstar, laughing. "I swear to God, he's like, _this big_. He even makes _you_ look a giant."

"Fuck you," Dean says, smiling. And then, "Dude, let's go. We'll make sure it's not something serious, it'll be good. Besides, you know Pixies, man. Wouldn't want you to miss a chance to get your dust on."

Dean leers, and Sam whips a balled-up pair of dirty socks at him. "Shut up."

"You know you want to." Dean tosses the socks in his bag, closes the laptop, does some sort of stupid Pixie dance. "C'mon, Sammy. Even a shitty music festival is better than this."

"True, but it won't be shitty." Sam thinks about the last time he saw Frankie, energy thrumming through him like electricity, a buzz Sam could feel, Frank's legs wrapped around his hips, dick hard, wicked little sparkle in his eyes. "If you ever listened to anything recorded this century, you'd know that."

Dean starts in on Sam's taste in music, but Sam ignores it, just lets Dean's voice wash over him while they gather up their stuff. Dean says, "Let's go Pixie-boy," and Sam rolls his eyes, swats Dean's ass on his way out the door.

 

 

\-- End --


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